


Rooted

by ohmyflavors (hannibae)



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-19 17:10:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13708938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibae/pseuds/ohmyflavors
Summary: In the dip of his throat, he’s got Link’s name buried, waiting to bubble up.





	Rooted

There are some days he wishes he’d seen earlier. 

Then, as he traces the lines across Link’s face, he realizes he never would have. Where he was, standing with his back against the wall, watching from afar and wondering why, hating that his stomach fluttered every time Link threw his head back and laughed-- he’d have never seen beyond what he thought was wrong. 

That wild cackle has followed him every step of the way. It echoes through the halls of his home, rings through the office of their studio, rattles through his bones as he sleeps next to his wife. 

Sometimes he feels like their veins are intertwined, tied in knots that have settled in the hollows of Rhett’s lungs. They crush through him, pumping blood and inflating him like a balloon. 

In the dip of his throat, he’s got Link’s name buried, waiting to bubble up. It always comes out, in some way or another-- be it through a laugh, a shout, a sob, a gasp, a whisper. Link’s name is thick and heavy in the air, popping like static electricity whenever he reaches out and circles his fingers around Link’s wrist. 

And like this, his hips working up against Rhett’s own, his chest rumbling a growl that wipes out the hollow sounds of Link’s name still ringing in his head-- gosh, if he isn’t everything. 

He’s always been everything. 

Like this, though. 

Fuck. He’s  _ everything _ . 

Dripping off his tongue comes a, “Whatchu waitin’ on, man?” that shocks Rhett back into being young with this boy. They’re not young anymore, but they aren’t old enough that Rhett’s forgotten any of it. It feels so much like home that he swears he doesn’t need anything else.  

“Waitin’ on you to ask for it,” Rhett tells him. Even still, he rolls his hips, drags his cock against Link’s thigh and listens to him chuckle. 

It shouldn’t feel as good as it does when Link argues, “I don’t  _ ask _ , Rhett.” And then, “Fuck me.” 

He knows this game like he knows all the others, and Link still thinks he’s slick. He doesn’t help Rhett wriggle his clothes off of him, lying limp and useless with a grin on his face that says he’s won. 

Rhett doesn’t tell him that the game’s been rigged since day one. 

“Come on,” he says, eyes dancing as he watches Rhett tug his own clothes off. 

The mattress dips with him, but Link dives forward, laughing into Rhett’s mouth as they kiss. “Yeah,” he taunts, lips wet and soft. “That’s it.” 

His hands trace the dips in Rhett’s spine, and Rhett wonders if he’s looking for memories like the ones Rhett always finds on Link’s body. Careful not to press, he drags his nails along Rhett’s ribs, never staying in one place for too long. 

And Rhett licks across his palate, catches that same wild cackle on the tip of his tongue, relishes in how it tastes just like it always has. 

He’s a part of a whole, and Link curls himself around Rhett, pulls him down until they’re pressed too close. Link pulls away from the kiss, licks his lips, and says, “Come on, big guy. You gonna fuck me or what?” 

He’s obscene; he’s too much; he’s fucking  _ everything _ . 

So Rhett stops wasting time. 

With wet fingers, he teases, too. He doesn’t press inside, just gets him slick, smearing lube across his hole and listening to his breath catch in his throat. It’s his turn to grin, say, “You want it?” 

His smile is brushing against Link’s cheek, and he closes the gap, getting his mouth wherever he can, rubbing his fingers over his hole, never pressing inside. When Rhett scrapes his teeth down his neck, Link grunts out, “Rhett.” 

He works his hips down, trying, but Rhett pulls away. Getting his hands on Link’s thighs, he lines their cocks up, watching Link’s eyelids flutter shut as he does. His back arches just a bit, a whine working its way out of his chest. When he rocks forward, Link’s whole body trembles. 

It’s Rhett’s turn to win. 

Quiet enough that Rhett almost misses it, Link groans out a thick, “Please, Rhett,” that quakes through him. Fingers tightening around Link’s thighs, Rhett reaches down to wrap his hand around them both. 

He thumbs over Link’s cock and uses his other hand to get them even slicker. When he pulls away, spreads the mess over his own cock, Link tells him, “You’re a damn tease, McLaughlin.” 

He slurs around the syllables, his face too flushed to give the words any bite, and Rhett just presses the wet head of his cock to Link’s hole. There’s a single beat before Link’s squeezing his eyes shut, choking on a sob that sounds like he’s giving in, and says, “I want it. Fuck,  _ please _ .” 

“Beg some more for me, baby,” Rhett tells him. He watches Link arch, his whines ribboning through Rhett’s ribcage, dripping like honey through his bones. 

It’s too sweet not to give in, to slip his head over where Link’s slick, listen to him sob. And when he does press inside, wet and slow, Link lets out all the breath in both of their lungs in a rush. His whole body trembles, and he tells Rhett, “Good gosh.”

Hips flush to Link’s, Rhett leans in and slots their mouths together, hoping to feel the jackhammering of his heart against his own chest. He can’t, but he can feel every inhale, how shaky they are, how they get stuck whenever Rhett pulls out. 

How they punch out of him in a gasp whenever he presses back in. 

He swallows them all down, gets his fill just like this, doesn’t let a single one linger between the two of them. His hands go tight around Link’s thighs, hold him open so he can press in deep, force more of those sounds out of him. 

This is what he loves the most-- the trembling mess that Link’s become. 

Pressed so close, his mouth licking a path across Link’s, he feels like he’s slotting into place. They were always supposed to be like this. Permission and promises and self-acceptance was all it took to get them here.

And fuck, if he doesn’t wish they got here sooner. 

He pulls away, asks again, “You want it?” 

“Gosh, Rhett,” Link says, not missing a beat, not wasting a moment, and he tenses. 

His eyes squeeze shut, his body arching up against Rhett’s. It’s barely a second before he’s reaching down, cupping a hand over his own cock, and shuddering through his orgasm. 

With a grin, Rhett sits up, glances over the mess Link’s made of himself. He circles a lazy fist around Link’s cock, warming when he twitches, lets out a pitiful groan that reverberates through Rhett’s guts. 

And Link looks up, his eyelids heavy, and he makes a small sound before his tired jaw works through, “Any mess you make, you’re cleaning up, baby.” 

Rhett grunts. “Sure,” he says, nodding his head. 

Link stretches, wriggles, twists just a bit. Rhett watches his muscles dance under his skin, remembers how they feel. 

“You just come whenever you’re ready, boy,” Link teases, his thighs tensing under Rhett’s hands. 

It’s the teasing lilt to his voice, the way his tongue wiggles over his bottom lip, how he folds his arms behind his head-- it’s how  _ Link  _ he is about all of it that has Rhett coming. 

There’s laughter bubbling through him, just as shocking as his orgasm, and Link’s grinning up at him whenever he chances a look at his face. 

It’s the same boy Rhett’s been watching his whole life. 

And maybe he didn’t see it for a long time, but he’ll be damned if he takes his eyes off of him now. 


End file.
